Cataclysm
by Tuz Farkinca
Summary: A collection of mostly tragic, angsty oneshots. What are the stories of the Volturi's wives? What did the early Quileutes find out the hard way? Newest Added: He Loves Me Less
1. Futile Rains

Two boys- no, a better term would be young men- stood in a clearing

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or any recognizable elements of it.**

**So, I looked at the various documents stuffed away on my computer, and the light went on to do some one shots collections. I absolutely adore one-shots. Most likely, there will be two collections- a humor one, and this one, which will be dark and somewhat tragic**.

**Warning: This one shot contains angst, and suicide. **

Two boys- no, a better term would be young men- stood in a clearing. They both were tall and well muscled, with dark skin and black hair. One's hair was neatly buzzed, while the other's was shaggier, almost falling into his eyes.

The weather was not too unusual for the area- thick clouds obscuring the sun. However, today the clouds were large and towering, building vast, grey cathedrals in the sky.

The two men looked at each other, seperated by a distance of about six feet. Both had their hands clenched into fists, and both wore anguished looks on their face.

The one with the buzz cut broke the silence. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I swear I'm sorry on my mother's grave! If the spirits told me I could reverse what I did by killing myself, I would." He paused to take a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He repeated.

The one with shaggy hair shook his head violently. "I want to forgive you, but I can't! She was my life, my _imprint_!" His form seemed to waver for a moment, then he took a deep breath.

His friend took the opportunity and talked. "I'm sorry! I didn't know it was her! She was sneaking through the woods, and she smelled exactly like a Cold One! I'm sorry, but I'm still new at this. I lost my head, and by the time I got it back, it was too late…"

The shaggy haired had stopped quivering. He was angry now. "It was just a game she played! She would pretend to be a wild cat, stalking her prey. And she probably smelled like one of them because they had been following her- I saw one, a blonde one, following her once in the forest." He was yelling by the time he was done.

"Please," his friend whispered in sharp contrast to the yelling. "Just forgive me."

He closed his eyes. "The only way we can settle this is a fight. I wish I could forgive you, but I can't. It's against my nature…I have to destroy what destroyed her."

The other one lowered his eyes, and a tear dripped from them. "If that's how it has to be…"

"It is."

A moment later, there were two huge wolves standing in the clearing- a black one with short fur and another with longer brown fur.

They both recoiled as they took this shape for the last time- they each felt the other's sorrow in addition to their own.

That did not keep them from leaping at each other's throat.

When it was over, the black one was lying in the center of the clearing, unmoving.

The brown one backed away from body, then stopped and returned to his human form. He walked back over to body- the friend he had killed. He sat down beside it, and took one of the huge paws, which held equally huge claws. In one swift motion, he drew the claws across his own throat- a wound not even he would heal from.

A few minutes later, a third wolf arrived on the scene- a small white wolf. He stopped when he came to the clearing, taking in the two other members of his pack, dead.

A lonely howl pierced the air as it began to rain- though the rain would never wash away the tragedy that had occurred.

**This is based off a quote on pp. 456 of **_**Breaking Dawn**_**.**

"_Binding, because the most absolute of all the pack's laws was that no wolf ever kill the object of another wolf's imprinting…it had happened long ago, Seth told me, but only accidentally. No wolf would ever intentionally destroy s brother that way."_

**So, I had to wonder about that incident. And this is the result. **

**Enough with this note, enjoy and review. **


	2. He Loves Me Less

**Not as tragic as the last, but enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Twilight.**

The sun burst through the cloud cover as I climbed the last step into the room. The one, large window was tinted glass, so we could see out but no one could see in. It was a precaution- this was a tower, after all. There was really no way for a human to accidentally look into the room.

My skin sparkled just a bit. The tinted windows did let in sun, but they diluted it.

The circular room was just as it had been, more or less, for centuries. There was a handsome wooden table with two chairs in the middle of the room. The table held some old, yellowed sheets of paper and fountain pens whose ink had dried up long ago. A large chaise longuefit neatly in the corner closest to the door, its once bright gold and red pattern faded to cream and pink.The floor underfoot was dark ebony wood. The walls were painted a plain white, and decorated with various oil paintings.

Oh, how much I used to love this room. It was my favorite place in the whole world. It probably still is, but now it holds too many bittersweet memories now.

This had been our special retreat room, for just Aro and I. Everyday, he would make room in his life to come up here for at least two hours, usually much more.

We would stay up here, in the only room that wasn't underground. The room would be filled with our laughter and voices and the sparkles from our skin. He would read the histories he was writing- sometimes he read them seriously, and I would gasp at how vivid his words were, how they flowed off the page with such grace. Other times he read them as comedies, making silly voices as he read. I would laugh and laugh, and he would smile.

I wrote songs in my native Latin and sang them for him. My voice was nothing extraordinary by vampire standards, but he claimed he would rather listen to it than anything else.

Other days we would draw, shaking our heads at how horrible we were at it. Immortality, it seems, can't improve everything. After days like this, we would get an artist to do a portrait of us- the paintings that still hung in the room.

Sometimes, we would do things husband and wife are supposed to do- we broke many chaises that way, and sometimes scuffed the floors.

There were glorious days where we would just talk, usually without him touching me so I could surprise him with my answers. There were other times we would sit on the chaise together, lying down even though we didn't need rest or sleep.

Aro knew me better than anyone else- my past was practically his past; he'd seen it so many times.

He'd known me since the days when I was a newborn, lost and confused at what I was. I had been a simple Roman girl, the daughter of a wealthy farmer- this was all way out of my league. When I had wandered near Volterra, he had allowed me to join.

And for so long, I had been blissfully happy. I had my mate, and I had friends- Didyme, who lived to make others happy; and Athenodora, who was slightly snobbish but well meaning, as well other female vampires that lived in Volterra. My new life was a paradise, a dream, something as beautiful as a glass sculpture.

It turned out to be just as fragile too.

When Didyme never returned from her battle, changes came about.

First, Athenodora and I never left the city anymore. No more hunting- our meals were brought to us by 'fishers.' No more going to war either, unless it was something big.

When I tried to talk to Aro about it, the answer was always the same. He would smooth down my light brown hair and look me in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Sulpicia dear. But it's for your own good." Then he'd convince me with a kiss.

Anyway, I still had my time with him in our room. I wasn't missing that much.

Then, a change came over Aro, bit by bit. With Marcus turning into an emotional zombie, Aro had to take more control over the Volturi. He still kept the records, but now he became the main leader, and picked up all the slack. And slowly, my time with him shrunk. A few less hours this decade…a hurried, one hour visit the next…and then, one decade he stopped coming altogether.

For five years, I still went to the room everyday, hoping he would come. And for a year, I was disappointed every day.

Eventually, I stopped going. I watched him hone the Volturi to perfection, gather gifted vampires left and right- for he was a collector at heart. I shuddered when he first called the guard 'dearest.'

Because it was apparent that two things were vying for his affections- the guard and myself. One he loves more, and one he loves less.

And I'm pretty sure it's me he loves less.


End file.
